


Mercy Mild

by waltwhitmans



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: M/M, indulgent liberal fantasy, it's december 1st so i'm posting this, otp: wait that's my word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 12:41:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltwhitmans/pseuds/waltwhitmans
Summary: His first year was nearly behind him, he had accomplished so much and would go so much farther, and Chasten was so proud. He'd always been proud. Pete deserved a little time off. The world would still be there on December 26th.As their first Christmas in the White House approaches, Pete and Chasten adjust to new demands.
Relationships: Chasten Buttigieg/Peter Buttigieg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	Mercy Mild

**Author's Note:**

> I write these What If stories to satisfy a very particular part of my id and I'm glad that so many of you have the same deal.

You couldn't do better for pomp and circumstance than the reception of the White House Christmas Tree. It arrived on a carriage pulled by two enormous Clydesdales, their harnesses draped in silver bells, driven by a coachman wearing a top hat. A quartet of Marine Band horn players accompanied the arrival with "O Christmas Tree." Chasten stood outside the North Portico and watched as the carriage bearing the tree - a blue spruce, exactly eighteen feet tall, picked from a farm in Wisconsin - came to a stop. The horses shook their manes and stomped their hooves as he walked around, inspecting it. "Very nice," he said, to the owner of the farm. She had accompanied the tree up the driveway. "I have big plans for this tree." 

"We are so honored to be part of this year's celebration," she said.

"I'm so glad we got a tree from Wisconsin. Once a Blugold, always a Blugold." 

Decorating the White House for Christmas felt to Chasten like he'd been given a budget a hundred times larger than he'd ever had before and told to go nuts. When he'd gone to the White House for the first time, after dating Pete for only three months, and seen the decorations, he marveled at how much work had gone into even the smallest details, and he'd wondered how anyone could do it. The Chief Usher and the Head Housekeeper had brought it up in February, because it was a production in all senses of the word, and he'd noodled with the plans all summer and fall. There were, among a plethora of many beautiful and astonishing creations, papier-mache statues of Truman and Buddy, decorated with wreaths around their necks and Santa hats on their heads, in the Entrance Hall; a gingerbread White House, so intricately made that, if one were to remove the front of it, they would see individual books on shelves, portraits on the walls, and a tiny President in the Oval Office and First Gentleman in the Blue Room, in the State Dining Room; a hand carved nativity scene from the eighteenth century, made in Naples and given to the White House during the Johnson administration, in the East Room; a wreath on every door, and twenty-five fully lit and exquisitely decorated trees throughout the Residence and both wings; and now, the official White House Christmas Tree for the Blue Room. 

The theme for that year's Christmas was "Peace On Earth." The tree would be decorated with ornaments designed by children of deployed soldiers who wouldn't be home for Christmas; Chasten was hosting an ornament making party for the kids a few days after the tree arrived. Pete had lost sleep over it and bitten his nails to the quick, but he couldn't negotiate the withdrawal before the holidays. The peace talks were going slower than anticipated. Chasten had rubbed his shoulders and told him that you can do everything right and still not get what you want, but it was weighing on him. "I'm the Commander-in-Chief," he said. "I'm responsible for every single person in the military. I ran on withdrawing troops from the Middle East." 

"Peter, you're the President, not a dictator. It's going to happen. Peace talks are happening and you're not sending any more over." 

"I didn't have to spend Christmas in Afghanistan," he said, like he hadn't heard Chasten. "I got home in September." 

When he got into a funk like this there was no silver bullet to get him out of it. He threw himself into work. It wasn't like he hadn't accomplished anything in his first year: national service opportunities had been increased through the Serve America Act, past marijuana convictions for millions of people had been expunged, mandatory minimums were eliminated, the Pittsburgh Climate Summit was a success, the new Secretary of Homeland Security was helping migrants who crossed the border instead of putting them in cages, and the FBI was cracking down on white nationalist groups harder than ever before. All this was accomplished while Pete was traveling the world to convince everyone else that America was not self-destructing. There was more on the horizon for 2022: the Medicare for All Who Want It bill was working its way through the think tanks and committees, probably to come to a vote in the spring. The Equal Rights Amendment, never truly dead, was revived, and would almost certainly be ratified. A bill to restore honorable discharges to LGBTQ veterans forced out of service would be introduced in the next session of Congress. But he hadn't gotten the troops withdrawn, and that was an ache Chasten couldn't fix. "I feel like he's closing himself off," he said to Anne. He'd gone up to her room on the third floor of the Residence. Pete was working late, and what he didn't know wouldn't bother him. "I know he's disappointed but it's not like it's never going to happen." 

"You and I both know that Peter holds himself to a standard higher than anyone else could," she said. "Of course it's frustrating to watch him tie himself in knots over things he can't control. He cares very deeply about bringing the troops home." 

"I know. He cares deeply about everything. That's why I fell in love with him." 

"You don't need to have the answers he's looking for. Just be there for him."

Pete kept up appearances, of course. He pardoned the Thanksgiving turkey in front of a delighted crowd. This year's turkey was named Bacon; its alternate was named Eggs. Both were spared and sent to a farm in Virginia. "By the power vested in me by the United States of America, I hereby pardon this turkey," he said, moving his hand over Bacon like he was knighting it. "Bacon, we have saved your bacon." He and Chasten lit the National Christmas Tree on the Ellipse, Pete's hand over Chasten's as they threw the switch; they hosted a Hanukkah party in the East Room, where a menorah purchased in France by Thomas Jefferson was lit. The social media team was filming behind the scenes videos of the Christmas prep and Pete was as open and candid as he could be. So far the most popular of these was a compilation of Buddy and Truman wandering around, inspecting the decorations, set to a jaunty old country song about Santa Claus. It ended with both dogs wearing Santa hats and Pete, in a red sweater, scratching them behind the ears. From the outside it was all looking warm and festive, but every night Chasten went to sleep next to a husband who was obsessing over the one thing he didn't get done. 

Despite Pete's mood, Christmas was still approaching. The ornament decorating party was a hit with the twenty kids invited. All of them, including Chasten, sat in little chairs at a low table and made ornaments out of construction paper, glitter glue, beads, and pipe cleaners. Some of the kids were so young that they couldn't clearly remember the parent that had been deployed. "Don't worry about making a mess," Chasten told them. "Don't worry about making it perfect. Every ornament is going to be beautiful, and we're going to take pictures and send them to your parents, and they will love them because you made them." 

The ornaments were left to dry while ushers served punch and cookies. Chasten stepped out of the room and walked briskly out of the Residence, through the West Colonnade, and into the office outside the Oval. "Is he available?" he asked Saralena.

"He's with Mike and Doug right now," she said, not looking away from her screen. She was typing furiously. "And I have to tell you, the mood in that room is not good." 

Doug was the Senior Advisor on Foreign Policy. Chasten had been hearing his name a lot lately. "What's going on?"

"An eyes-only document came from State about twenty minutes ago. The President read it, called Mike and Doug, and they've been shut up in the Oval since then. I don't know what's going on but it can't be good." 

Chasten sighed. He'd hoped that he'd be able to cajole Pete into making an appearance in the Blue Room, spend a few minutes with the kids, if only to lighten his mood. The delivery of an eyes-only document meant that not only was Pete not getting away from work for ten minutes, he probably wouldn't leave the Oval until well after dark. Chasten thanked Saralena and went upstairs to get the dogs instead. The kids were thrilled, both Truman and Buddy got attention from adoring fans, and Chasten kept a smile on his face for the cameras. It went off without a hitch. 

Pete got home that night just as Chasten decided to go to bed. He'd been watching himself on the evening news, helping two little boys make an ornament for their mother and talking to reporters about the spirit of the season. Nearly everything he was doing personally or directing staff to do was being filmed, photographed, recorded in some way, to either be shown on the nightly news or to go on the official White House Twitter account and YouTube channel. "For reasons of national security, I can't tell you what went on today," Pete said. "But I can tell you I've had an incredibly trying day and I just want to go to bed because I have to be back at work in seven hours." 

"Okay," Chasten said. "That's fine." 

Pete looked at Chasten like he expected a little pushback. Chasten wasn't surprised; there were days that Pete had to debate and argue with people all day and sometimes he had to be reminded that he didn't have to defend his positions when he was at home. "Come on," Chasten said. 

In bed, with the lights out, Chasten hoped that Pete would unload a little of his stress, but he turned onto his side to face the door. He was gone when Chasten woke up in the morning. 

\--

HGTV had arrived to film the Christmas at the White House special. The hosts had endured three years of dealing with Melania's winter nightmares, and the year before there was no special because the Trumps decamped to Florida. They were very happy to meet Chasten and see the handiwork he'd overseen. For an entire day he walked the crew through the White House, starting in the East Wing and working their way towards the West Wing. He highlighted the things he was most proud of, the things he felt a special connection to. The tree in the East Landing paid tribute to fallen soldiers, decorated with ornaments made by Gold Star families. From the ceiling in the East Colonnade hung delicate paper snowflakes, each with the name of a state or territory on it. Next to the statues of the First Dogs, there was a tree dedicated to the pets of the staff, ornamented with pictures of cats, dogs, fish, birds, a few snakes and turtles, a pig, and a raccoon owned by one of the housemen. "I'm particularly proud of what's in the Vermeil Room," Chasten said, as he led the crew out of the China Room. "I got fifty-six volunteers together, one from each state and territory, and each one made a fake present to represent where they were from, and we put them all around the tree in here."

"How long did that take?" one of the hosts asked.

"Not too long," came a voice from inside the Vermeil Room. "Maybe an hour." 

"Peter?" Chasten asked. Pete was standing at parade rest in front of the tree. He looked at least a little relaxed. "What are you doing here?" 

"I overheard some of the ushers discussing your route, and I thought I'd surprise you." Pete looked back at the tree. It was decked with white lights and silver tinsel, with a nautical star on top. Behind Chasten the hosts and crew were freaking out. "Which one is the Michigan present?"

"The one with cherries on it."

They spent a few minutes looking at the presents, showing the ones from the states that meant the most to them to the camera: Michigan, Indiana, Wisconsin, Illinois. When Pete checked his watch and said he had to go, he gave Chasten a quick peck on the lips before excusing himself. For the rest of the tour Chasten couldn't keep himself from smiling. 

Turnaround on the special was quick, and two weeks later Pete insisted on watching it for date night. Chasten didn't like watching himself for more than a few minutes but he let Pete convince him. Pete angled into the corner of the couch and Chasten sat sideways, between his legs, to lean on his chest. The two hosts bounced questions off Chasten, oohed and aahed over the decorations. "It was so sweet of you to surprise us," Chasten said, when they got to the Vermeil Room.

"I needed to get out of the office," Pete said. "It was getting uncomfortable. I told everybody to take a few minutes and get some air. I heard from a couple of the ushers that morning that you were filming so I went looking for you." 

"How long were you waiting in there?" Chasten asked.

"I got in just before you. I guess you didn't see me run in when you were bringing everyone into the China Room."

Chasten had not seen him, and the thought of Pete running into the Vermeil Room - the President trying to surprise his husband and an unsuspecting camera crew - made him laugh until he teared up. Pete put his arm around Chasten and kissed the top of his head. "Highlight of my day," he said. 

It was the least stressed Chasten had seen Pete in weeks. Chasten had been holding his tongue about the situation, trying to be supportive of Pete's position without prying. Maybe he would be getting his husband back soon. They finished the special before heading to bed, and instead of going to sleep right away Pete pushed his hand under Chasten's shirt and asked, "How long has it been?"

Since Thanksgiving at Camp David. "Long enough," Chasten said, sliding his fingers under the waist of Pete's boxers. 

In the morning Chasten was in an excellent mood. The sun was shining, Christmas was coming, he'd gotten thoroughly laid the night before, and all was right in the world. He was in the Flower Shop inspecting the arrangements for the big Christmas Eve party when his phone buzzed. It was a text from Emily, telling him to come upstairs to her office. He went, more than a little curious. "What's up?"

"Close the door," Emily said. Chasten did so, then noticed that what seemed like half the East Wing staff were crowded into the room."Have you seen the news yet today?"

"No. What's going on?"

One of the comms staffers picked up a remote and pressed play. Chasten looked at the television and felt his heart sink. On CNN, Wolf Blitzer was talking over footage of Taliban officials and U.S. diplomats. Peace talks were breaking down, he said, because the two nations had deadlocked on how to respond to a recent terror attack in Abbottabad. The Taliban wanted to approach with ground troops, but the U.S. wanted to reexamine the intelligence coming from the area before making a decision. They had been debating for hours and were nowhere near a solution, and it wasn't looking good. "Obviously this is out of our wheelhouse," Emily said. "But I thought you should know what you're going home to tonight." 

Chasten pinched the bridge of his nose. The outside world had an amazing way of ruining his good moods. "Does he know?" 

"Mike is with him now. Don't worry about this. We have enough to do with Christmas."

Chasten left Emily's office, walked half the length of a football field back to the Flower Shop, and told the florists that he approved of their arrangements. He forgot what they looked like as soon as he left. 

"It is unfortunate," Anne said. Chasten invited her to have dinner with him that evening, because Pete was still working and he felt lonely and small by himself on the second floor. She waited until the butler had left the room. "Of course I've experienced this before. When Peter was deployed there were a lot of subjects he couldn't discuss. I would ask him a question and all I would hear was silence." 

"I can't help him with this," Chasten said. "I know that. I've heard from First Ladies and they've all said the same thing. There are things out of my control. But I'm not going to sit here and be a good little boy while he keeps digging himself into this hole." 

"Oh, he knows," Anne said. "He didn't marry you just to have a cheerleading section to come home to." 

Chasten was so thankful that Anne had come with them. What better sounding board could there be than the one person who knew Pete better?

Pete didn't get in until well after Anne had gone to bed. Chasten forced himself to stay awake by taking all the ornaments off the tree in the Yellow Oval Room and redecorating it. He was determined to be there when Pete came home, to be present for his husband, but he had no intention of rolling over and accepting stony silence anymore. Chasten was hanging an ornament shaped like the Notre Dame Leprechaun when he heard the door open. He abandoned the tree and found Pete on the landing. "So I guess you know what happened," he said. 

"Yeah, Emily told me. And I was having such a good morning too." 

"Look, you know what I'm going to say."

"National security and all that. You've been in the Oval all day with the foreign policy advisors, reading eyes-only papers from State, on the phone with the diplomats and military leaders overseas." 

Pete shrugged his jacket off, held it by one finger over his shoulder. "One of these days," he said, his mild tone belying the anger he was obviously feeling, "I'm going to pick up the phone, call the special envoy, and tell him to eat shit."

"Peter - "

"I restarted the peace negotiations with the Taliban because I saw a window of opportunity to end the forever war, the war I thought I might die in, the war that terrifies me every time I see it on the news because I think I'm going to hear about a kid who wasn't born on 9/11 dying over there, and what do I get? A pissing contest. Where the fuck does he get off?" 

"This is the same crap that's been happening for years. How many times have you been told that this is a long process and there would be setbacks? Why are you getting so worked up over it?"

Pete moved his jacket under his arm and yanked his tie off. His hands were trembling, almost imperceptibly. "Because I have been working towards this for almost a year and I'm _tired_ of not getting anywhere. The last thing I need right now is for the ground we've gained to be taken from us. I don't need it from anyone, much less the State Department." 

Pete walked around Chasten, down the hallway, into the sitting room next to their bedroom. He kept a small office there for less demanding work that he could do outside the Oval: replying to letters, catching up on reading, calling Mike at the end of the day with any outstanding business. Chasten followed him in. "I can't spare you from the machinations of the State Department, Peter," he said. "And since you can't tell me half of what exactly has you so stressed, I can't help you with that either. So I guess all I can tell you is to buck up and realize that shit happens, diplomats and envoys are people too, and you're the President so I think you're going to have to find a way through this." 

"Forget it." Pete walked around to the other side of the desk and sat heavily in his chair, like his strings had been cut. "Just forget it. Go to bed. I'll be there in a while." 

The conversation wasn't over, and they both knew it, but Pete was not in the mood to continue and Chasten wasn't about to press him. Christmas was only a week away, and what little progress he'd made with Pete was gone.

\--

The next day was a big one for both Chasten and Pete. Gayle King was coming for a tour of the White House and to conduct the first joint interview they'd done since Pete was inaugurated. After she left, they had to film the official presidential holiday greeting. Chasten wasn't sure how it was going to come across to people watching, if anyone would pick up on Pete's mood or the tension between them. The absolute last thing he needed was for rumors about their marriage to start spreading. 

Chasten retraced his steps with Gayle, showing her the same trees and decorations that he showed to HGTV, but focused on history and patriotism instead of art and design. He answered her questions with poise and an air of gratitude to be in the People's House and have the privilege of decorating it for her holiday. In every room he hoped to see Pete but he was nowhere to be found. In the Vermeil Room, he focused on the garlands made with real pine branches and pinecones by the florists, and didn't say anything about the presents. 

They sat for the interview in the Diplomatic Reception Room, in front of a portion of the mural that depicted a natural land bridge in Virginia. Chasten rested his hands in his lap and listened to the back and forth. This wasn't a hardball interview; the Press Secretaries had laid down one ground rule. No questions on the peace talks or the withdrawal of troops. Gayle was tough, but fair, and she abided by the rule. "You're coming up on one year as president," she said. "What would you say is your greatest success thus far?"

"I can't point to one single achievement," Pete said, "because everything we've accomplished thus far is all supporting the biggest goal of my presidency, which is to ensure the world that America can be trusted again." 

"How do you feel that you can convince the rest of the world after only one year?"

"There's no other way to do it except to show up and do the work. Look, I'm experienced in putting my money where my mouth is. Mayors can't hide from problems, and presidents certainly can't either. As a public servant, I work for the American people, and my job is to make the citizens of this country proud feel proud to live here, that they can hold their heads up in front of other nations, and we can make the progress we so sorely need. Of course it's a tall order but I have no doubt that if we come together we can accomplish it, and I am proud to lead the way on that great project." 

There he was, the Pete that Chasten fell in love with, the pragmatic idealist who believed in nothing so deeply as the undying grace of humanity. "I have to credit Chasten as well," Pete added. He reached for Chasten's hand, held it loosely. "He's been with me every step of the way, traveling with me and spreading the word, and opening the White House to the people it belongs to. And he's done a fantastic job of decorating."

"Thank you, Peter," Chasten said. He rubbed the back of Pete's hand with the inside of his finger. "But there are so many people involved: the florists, the electricians, the carpenters, the curators, the pastry chefs, and of course the volunteers from every state and territory who came to help us out." 

That became a discussion about adjusting to life in the White House, and a look ahead to what was planned for the coming year. The interview wrapped up after about an hour. Chasten knew it would be edited down to ten minutes at most but he hoped they would keep the moment when Pete held his hand. Not just because visibility would always be important; he wanted to see it for himself. 

Once Gayle and her crew had left, they started to film the official holiday greeting. They moved into the Red Room and sat in front of the tree - decorated with cherries, cranberries, and holly berries, and wrapped in red ribbon - to record the message. One of the writers had come up with a nice little speech about the spirit of the season, and Carina told Chasten to say "good job" to Pete at the end. It was supposed to come across as relaxed and genial. An usher built a fire in the fireplace. "They don't let me make fires here," Chasten said. "I have to ask somebody to do it."

"They don't want you burning the place down."

"I'm very careful."

"Just in case."

Out of the corner of his eye Chasten saw the red light blinking on the camera. "I signed off on the menu for the Christmas Eve party this morning," he said. "You're going to love it."

"Yeah? What are they making?" 

"It's a surprise. But I can tell you that no chef who works here will ever make a pork sundae."

"I'm never going to live that one down, am I?"

"Never." 

Carina got Pete's attention from behind the camera, and he read the little speech off cue cards. "On our very first Christmas in the White House, we are so grateful for this truly amazing experience, and from our family to yours, we want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays."

"Good job," Chasten said, bumping his shoulder against Pete's. 

"Cut!" Carina said. "Got it in one. Thanks, everybody. It'll be on YouTube tomorrow."

Chasten looked at his watch. It was a few minutes after six. "I was thinking about going upstairs and watching a movie," he said. "Care to join me?"

"Sure," Pete said. "We could have dinner sent up."

"We could."

Just as Chasten was about to say that he was going to let his staff know that he was officially unavailable, an intern came into the room with a note that she passed to Pete, without looking at it. Pete opened the note and read it, frowning. "I need a rain check," he said. "Something came up."

"Eyes-only?"

"Yes." To the intern he said, "Tell Saralena to get the Chief of Staff, the Foreign Policy Advisor, and the National Security Advisor in the Oval, and have her get State on the line and tell them to wait for my call."

In the Residence by himself, Chasten did not feel the least bit in the holiday spirit. He had cereal for dinner and went to bed early. In the final rush of preparations for Christmas, the interview slipped his mind, and he didn't see any of it on the news.

\--

Christmas Eve began with a visit to a preschool. Pete took an hour away from the Oval and visited a group of kids whose parents had to work the day before Christmas. He sat on the floor and read _The Night Before Christmas_ to a rapt audience. Chasten wasn't there; he saw it on Twitter. He was at the White House dealing with the last-minute preparations for the party that evening. His parents arrived that afternoon, but he only had time for a quick hello and to bring them to their room on the third floor before he had to go back downstairs to oversee the chaos. There had already been fifteen parties since the beginning of December, but for each one, attendance was short. After the first hour, Pete and Chasten would come down the Grand Staircase, say a few words, then take their places for a selfie line. The hard work was done by the ushers and butlers. Chasten wanted to give all the Residence staff a Christmas bonus, but he wasn't in charge of paying them. For this party, for seventy-five people that he and Pete had chosen themselves - Cabinet members and their spouses, their staffs in the East and West Wings, Chasten's parents, Anne, friends who lived in the area - he wanted to host personally. He wanted to talk to people, not just shake hands in a line.

In a few short hours, the East Room was transformed from a largely empty space into the epicenter of activity. Tables and chairs came up from the basement; the floral arrangements, which were really quite beautiful, went up; the electricians set up the speakers for the Marine Band. Chasten looked in the kitchen and saw the chefs making hundreds of hors d'oeuvres and prepping a buffet. The executive chef chose the menu; Chasten approved it. The only thing he remembered approving was the lobster mac and cheese. It sounded good. He walked through each room and double checked that every light was shining, every candle lit, every ornament facing the right way. The thing he was most thankful for was the fully stocked open bar. 

Pete went straight to the Oval after he came back from the preschool. They were supposed to go to the Lessons and Carols service at St. John's that evening before the party. Chasten waited for him in the Entrance Hall. The service started seven and the party at eight, which meant - if there were no hiccups - they would get back to the White House with enough time to change into the tuxes and make their entrance before it was too late in the evening. At ten of seven, Chasten was about to call Saralena to ask what was keeping Steward, but he heard a door open behind him. "We're not late, are we?"

"Not quite."

Pete was buttoning his coat, gloves in one hand. "I stuck my head in the East Room as I was coming. It looks amazing." 

"Next year you have to let me do the Oval."

"I think it's illegal to put a Santa hat on the bust of Roosevelt."

"You can't be compelled to testify against me."

Nobody noticed them at St. John's, or at least they pretended not to. Pete was a regular on Sundays, and the parishioners were used to the presence of the Secret Service. They arrived on time and took their seats in the balcony. The service began with the first carol, "Once In Royal David's City." Pete wasn't much of a singer but he could get it together if he was in a crowd. The church had reached out a few weeks earlier and asked if he would do a reading, but he declined. He wanted to just be a congregant, celebrating. 

As the service continued, Chasten let his eyes wander to the stained glass windows, the candles flickering, the faces of the people around him. He watched Pete listen to the lessons of the fall of man, the promise of the coming Savior, and the birth of Jesus. Pete held the hymnal as they sang the carols. He took this seriously, as he did every time he walked into church. He wanted, needed the time to reflect and sit with himself, with no staff or advisors around him. On this night especially, focused on redemption after loss and the ever-present possibility of love, Chasten thought Pete deserved it. To just be a voice among hundreds, singing in praise and joy. 

They snuck out as soon as the priest finished the blessing, the last hymn - _peace on Earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled_ \- echoing in Chasten's head. The ride back to the White House was only five minutes. "I went to Christ Church for the Lessons and Carols once," Pete said. "When I was at Oxford. They have a boys choir. Every year the choirmaster picks one kid at random and has him sing the first verse of 'Once in Royal David's City' solo. The year I went, the boy looked like he was about six years old, but his voice - breathtaking. People were crying. And I sat in this church that was about seven hundred years old listening to the music that's been sung the same way since it was written, an American among Britons, and I felt very alone. But I started singing with the rest of the congregation, and it was okay. I knew I would be okay."

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"If you like." The car pulled up to the door of the North Portico. "Show's starting."

Upstairs, they changed from their day clothes into the tuxedos. Neither of them had a stylist or dresser; Twitter was going to shred them no matter what, and they had better things to do. The tuxedos were a classic look, and it didn't matter if they wore them more than once. "How late does this party go to?" Pete asked.

"The invitation said eleven. I can ask the ushers to start clearing plates and turning the lights off at quarter of."

"We can't kick our guests out of the People's House."

"It's not a kick, it's a gentle nudge." 

Before they went down Chasten saw Pete slip something into his jacket. He figured it was the notecard with his remarks for the end of the party, where he would thank everyone for coming and toast to the season. The plan was to have dinner and mingle, dance when there was a song to dance to, Pete would speak, and then everyone would go home. The guests were corralled in the Entrance Hall, waiting for them to make their way down the Grand Staircase, to start the party. "My parents are downstairs already," Chasten said. "And your mom." 

"What time is it?"

"Ten after eight."

"You don't want to make them wait?"

"The food is going to get cold. And the band isn't going to wait." 

Pete took Chasten's hand, pressed their palms together. "Ready?"

"Ready."

As they made their way down the stairs, Chasten could already hear shutters clicking, their guests murmuring to each other, and the band playing the music from _A Charlie Brown Christmas_. The crowd applauded as they reached the doorway of the Entrance Hall. Camera flashes burst in front of his eyes. "Good evening," Pete said. "Thank you all so much for coming. Before we begin, I just want to mention that the three State parlors and the State Dining Room are open, if anyone would like to see the spectacular job the First Gentleman did with decorating, but the upstairs is off-limits. Are you all ready?"

The guests cheered. Pete smiled, the first genuine smile Chasten had seen in far too long. "Let's go." 

In the East Room, butlers walked the floor with trays of hors d'oeuvres. A fire crackled in the fireplace. The Marine Band was playing jazzy arrangements of Christmas classics. Chasten walked around the room, saying hello, accepting compliments on the decorations, posing for selfies. "The gingerbread house is just marvelous," the Secretary of Energy gushed. "I love the little Buddy and Truman on the North Portico."

"You should get a picture with the big ones in the Entrance Hall."

"We did," her wife said. "Several."

Pete was doing the same thing, working the room. Chasten saw him talking to ambassadors and secretaries, prayed he wasn't discussing business at their party on Christmas Eve. He couldn't leave work alone for a few hours when he was the mayor of South Bend, of course he couldn't do it now. Chasten checked in with Anne and his parents, who had found a table near the bar. Smart of them. "You can't go wrong with a blue spruce," his father said. "But if it were up to me I'd have gone with a Douglas fir. Now that's a Christmas tree."

"The spruce won a contest, Dad. The prize was getting to come here." 

"Get him to sit down for five minutes," Anne said. "Bring him a drink. Remind him that this is supposed to be a celebration." 

Chasten got a whiskey sour from the bar, found Pete with the Ambassador to Pakistan. "Relax," he said, pressing the glass into Pete's hand, walking him towards the table with the food. It was quite a spread. "Have a drink. Eat the food we're paying for. Enjoy yourself." 

"I know I haven't been a lot of fun to be around lately."

"Peter, we can clear the air later. We're hosting right now." 

"I'm making my remarks at ten-thirty."

"It's only a few minutes past nine."

"I'm going to ask you to dance at nine-thirty."

"We're having two different conversations right now."

"Just wait," Pete said. On the other side of the room, the Secretary of Veterans Affairs was waving at him. "I'm being summoned, excuse me." 

Pete took off for another conversation. Chasten snagged a champagne flute off a tray. Fine. He'd have some of the lobster mac and cheese before it disappeared. 

At nine twenty-nine, Chasten was sitting at a table with other spouses - the wives of the Secretary of Commerce and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the husbands of the Ambassador to the U.N. and the National Security Advisor. They were finishing dinner and good-naturedly complaining about their spouses. The Ambassador's husband was finishing up a story about the time they got lost in the Catacombs in Paris; Chasten was about to say that he heard the Catacombs were haunted when everyone else at the table stood up. "As you were, everyone," Pete said. "Chasten."

Chasten looked at his watch: nine-thirty. "Excuse me," he said. "My husband needs me for something." 

Pete led Chasten to the middle of the room. It was supposed to be a dance floor but no one was dancing yet. "Tradition says that nobody starts dancing until the President and their spouse start," he said. "I spoke to the pianist in the band earlier. He told me when there was going to be a good song to dance to."

The piano trilled. Pete took Chasten's hand in his, rested the other on his back. A Marine with a guitar across his chest began to sing, as horns gently picked up in volume behind him. "_When the bells all ring and the horns all blow, and the couples we know fondly kissing, will I be with you or will be I among the missing?_"

"Smooth," Chasten said, quietly, so only Pete could hear him. Around them other couples were walking onto the dancefloor, taking places. "I'll lead." 

"Thanks." 

They settled into the same kind of two-step they'd done at the Inaugural Ball, but instead of cameras in their faces and supporters cheering as Brandi Carlile sang "When You Say Nothing at All," Chasten could focus just on Pete. His husband, who had the toughest job in the world, and was not only keeping his head above water but was doing unbelievably good things. His first year was nearly behind him, he had accomplished so much and would go so much farther, and Chasten was so proud. He'd always been proud. Pete deserved a little time off. The world would still be there on December 26th. "_Maybe I'm crazy to suppose I'd ever be the one you chose, out of the thousand invitations you received - ah, but in case I stand one little chance, here comes the jackpot question in advance - what are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?_"

"Good question," Pete said. "What are you doing for New Year's?" 

"We're hosting another party in the State Dining Room for Senators and their spouses." 

"Oh."

"But when the clock strikes midnight," Chasten added, resting his arms over Pete's shoulders, "I'm going to be kissing my husband." 

"Funny." Pete moved both hands to the small of Chasten's back. "I was planning on doing the same thing." 

At ten-thirty, Pete took his place behind a podium next to the stage. "Good evening, everyone, and thank you all again for coming. This is our first holiday season in the White House and it's been made so special by the hard work and tireless effort of everyone working behind the scenes, from the dedicated staff to the volunteers who came from all across the country. This time of year has always been one to take a step back and take stock of the things that are really important in our lives, to rejoice in the company of our families and loved ones, to recognize the blessings in our lives, and to spread the joy of the season. Over sixty thousand people have visited to see the amazing holiday decorations, an effort spearheaded by the First Gentleman, who always did a better job of decorating than I did."

A murmur of laughter rippled through the audience. Chasten, sitting at the table with his parents and mother-in-law, smiled. Pete continued. "Of those sixty thousand, hundreds have sent cards and thank you notes addressed to me - and I didn't have anything to do with it, but I have enjoyed reading them. I'd like to read a card I received only yesterday from a recent visitor. This is from Amanda. She's nine years old and came from Asheville, North Carolina with her grandparents to see the Christmas decorations at the White House." 

Pete pulled the card out of his jacket, cleared his throat, opened it. "Dear Mister President, I am writing to thank you for the wonderful time I had at the White House last week. My grandma says it's important to tell people when you appreciate them and to thank them. I loved the decorations at the White House, especially the beautiful trees, the gingerbread White House, and the big statues of your dogs Buddy and Truman. They were very cute. Please thank the First Gentleman and the staff for all their hard work. I want to tell you that I have had a hard year since my parents divorced and I went to live with my grandparents, but when I saw the White House I felt really happy. You made Christmas fun again for my family. Thank you again. Sincerely, Amanda, age nine."

Pete closed the card, put it back in his jacket. "It's easy to become separated from what this season really means," he said. "It's easy to get wrapped up in the commercial aspect, to focus only on the superficial things. But when you get a card like this, it puts things in perspective. She doesn't know what the President has to deal with every day. She has no idea what goes on in this building. All she knows is that she had a wonderful time here with her family, and she wanted me to thank me. That's what this season is about: telling the people you love that you love them, that you appreciate them, that they make you happy. We come together to celebrate the holiday and we find joy in one another. When I send Amanda a note thanking her for this beautiful card, that's what I'll write. So, as we look ahead to the new year, let us all remember the values of the season and commit to living them all year. Merry Christmas, everyone. God bless you." 

Applause, cheering, a few whistles. Chasten stood up as Pete approached the table. "Meet me in the Blue Room in half an hour," he said, sotto voce. "We should talk."

"Absolutely," Chasten said. 

The guests began to trickle out shortly after the speech. Chasten made sure to stand near the door to say goodnight to everyone. By quarter after eleven, the guests were all gone, the parents had gone upstairs, the band was packing up, the food was being carried out, and Pete had disappeared. Chasten had stayed to supervise the tear down of the party, but after checking the time he told the butlers that they were finished once the food was put away, and he excused himself. The White House was quiet now; all Chasten could hear was the sound of the butlers working. He liked it late at night when there weren't staffers and aides running around, when he could stop and take it all in. 

It was a short walk from the East Room to the Blue Room. Chasten wasn't sure what to expect when he pushed the door open and walked in. Pete was standing in front of the tree, tie undone and jacket off, hands behind his back. A fire was blazing; the ornaments on the tree sparkled in the light. "Hi," Pete said.

"Hi," Chasten replied, closing the door behind him.

"Is there anyone left?"

"Just the butlers clearing the food, and the ushers who have to stay until we go to bed."

"Come here." 

Chasten could never resist the request. In just a few steps he was in Pete's arms, kissing him. "I'm sorry," Pete said, before a long kiss, then a short one, like he just had to have one more. "I asked you to come here so I could apologize."

"For what?"

"The fact that I've been acting like a complete tool for the past few weeks."

They sat down at the base of the tree. Pete drew his knees to his chest. "I still can't tell you a lot," he said. "Besides what you already know. But I wasn't being fair to you, coming home in a bad mood, expecting you to just smile and nod. I didn't marry you so I could have a yes man around all the time. I promised you that we'd never lose sight of each other while we're here and I'm committed to that. I know you're dealing with a lot and I appreciate everything you do, and you don't deserve to have to handle me as well." 

"Thank you, babe. That means a lot."

"When I was coming downstairs earlier to go to church, I looked in all the State rooms. Everything looks amazing. You really did go all out, just like you said you would. Do you remember what we were doing last Christmas Eve?" 

Chasten had to think for a second. "I was packing up the house," he said. "And I had to go rescue you from a meeting. I brought you home."

"You always bring me back to the real world. You remind me of what's really important."

Embers from the fire sparked out of the flame and disappeared. Pete craned his neck to look back at the tree. "All those ornaments were made by the kids?" 

"They were supplemented by the DC chapter of the DAR. They made ornaments for veterans in their families going back to the Revolution. There's even one on there for the French and Indian War." 

"You'll have to give me the tour tomorrow."

"We saw the special. You were there."

"I want to hear it again." Pete scooted closer, let his knee fall to rest on Chasten's thigh. "From the person behind the magic." 

In the distance, the bells of St. John's and the National Cathedral rang. It was nearly midnight, nearly Christmas. Distantly, Chasten could hear the butlers finishing up. He'd told the kitchen staff to just serve the leftovers the next day; no need to waste anything. Everyone had a family to get home to. For one day there would be a respite from the work, the grind of leading the country. Pete smiled at him. "Merry Christmas, babe," Chasten said, going in for another kiss.


End file.
